


As Sweet as the Sound

by crookedashes



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: AND THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED!, Crowley has a Harley instead of a Bentley, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Human AU, M/M, Mostly Fluff, a weekend family reunion trip, ain't no way someone in their twenties can afford a Bentley, canon-typical fatphobia from Gabriel (and Azira's dad), happy ending but there's probably going to be a little suffering on the way, minor/referenced ineffable bureaucracy, they're both dumb but in the usual way lol, they're both idiots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2020-12-13 16:47:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21000917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crookedashes/pseuds/crookedashes
Summary: Azira Fell accidently tells his family that he and Crowley are dating.





	1. Chapter 1

“Crowley!” Azira called as he pushed through the doors of the plant nursery. The owner sighed as the young curly-heads man with sky-blue eyes made a beeline for the back, where muffled shouts came from. The customer in front of her chuckled and smiled.

“Those two certainly keep things lively around here,” he said. The owner rolled her eyes.

“Sometimes a little too lively,” she remarked with a sniff.

Azira dodged around customers and displays until he slipped behind the divider that led into the back. At first, he hadn’t been allowed to come back here, but what Azira wanted, he tended to get, for the most part. Crowley, Anthony J. Crowley, stood in front of a row of baby plants, brandishing a water mister as a weapon and growling threats at the foliage. They appeared to be shaking, which was exactly what Crowley wanted. He paused as he watched Azira walk in, swallowing as he took in his friend’s appearance. Then he shook his head to bring himself back into the present.

“Hey Zira, what’s up? You look a little—“ delicious would have been Crowley’s word of choice, so he was glad he had the presence of mind to stop himself. Azira could never know that he’d had a crush—no, been in love—since the beginning.

“help me,” the angelic man panted. “Please.”

“Need me again already, do you? What do you need help with, Zira?” Crowley asked, turning away to mist some plants. He mostly did it to hide the blush spreading across his cheeks.

“I—I—“ he stammered, sitting down on an empty crate. “You’re not going to like this.”

“Get on with it,” Crowley grumbled, finally turning back towards his friend. He was now genuinely curious as to what had gotten his angel flustered, and less focused on what he looked like when so flustered. “it’s not like it’ll kill me—will it?”

“Oh, heavens no, Crowley,” Azira asserted, folding his hands in his lap and playing with his thumbs. “It’s just—well, I—I may have told my parents and Gabriel that we are . . . dating.”

The spray bottle dropped from Crowley’s hand. “You _what?”_

“I told them we’re dating!” Azira repeated emphatically, turning to face Crowley head on. “They were making fun of my gut again, and Gabriel said I’d never be able to catch anyone looking like this, and I just g-got so angry.” He lowered his eyes. “And now he’s expecting us to come to our family reunion this year, as a couple.”

Crowley swallowed, trying to think of what the most Crowley-like thing to do was. He felt like he could think of anything at all—like his brain was just static and completely out of commission. A laugh bubbled up in his throat—a nervous laugh—and he decided to just roll with it. He shoved his hands into his pockets, wishing that he was wearing his sunglasses. He wore them almost everywhere, but not when he was working. Clearly, that had been a mistake.

“Is that all?” he asked, trying to nonchalantly pick up the spray bottle He missed his target, lost his balance spectacularly, and ended up on his rear, looking at Azira’s concerned and shocked expression when he landed with wide amber eyes. He broke out into what he hoped was a suave smile. “Why, that’s easier than picking up a spray bottle.”

A small smile came to Azira’s lips, and then he laughed, watching Crowley with an absolutely radiant expression. Crowley was mesmerized.

He was every time.

“Oh, I’m so glad you’ll help me, my dear,” Azira said, exhaling in relief. “If you hadn’t been willing, I would have been up a creek without a—oh, what do people say?”

“Paddle, Zira,” Crowley supplied helpfully.

“Paddle, yes,” the blond said, standing up. “Thank you so much, Crowley. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

Crowley suddenly felt a lump in his throat, and cleared his throat to get it to go away. “Yes, well don’t go telling anyone. I’ve got my reputation, after all.”

“Right,” Azira Fell murmured, looking very skeptical. “Well, the reunion’s this Saturday. Are you going to come on your—“

“Yeah, I’m coming on the Harley,” Crowley responded before Azira could finish. “I’m assuming you’ll be going with someone—“

“Someone else, yes,” Azira responded. His nose wrinkled, just a bit. “You’ve always gone a little too fast for me.”

Crowley blinked, the information coming like a slap in the face, again. Every time Azira said it, it was a rejection—or it felt like it, anyway. He pursed his lips. He had almost gotten a little excited about all of this—after all, he was going to at least pretend for a day that he was dating the love of his life. But that seemed like the perfect reminder that Azira had never and would never love him in that way. Which was fine; Crowley realized that that was Azira’s prerogative.

The only thing he wished for was to sometime, somehow, fall out of love. He didn’t want his angel to find out and feel uncomfortable.

“Right,” Crowley muttered. “Well, I’ll see you on Saturday then, I guess.”

Azira frowned. “I thought we were going for lunch tomorrow.”

“Oh, right. Well, I’ll see you tomorrow then. That little sandwich shop you like down by the water alright?” The man with a snake tattoo began ushering the impeccably-dressed one out of the back of the shop back to where customers were allowed.

“Yes, that’s fine. Is everything alright, Crowley?”

“Your shift starts in less than 20 minutes,” the redhead asserted.

It did, so it made a wonderful excuse.

“Oh, well then I’d better get a wiggle on, hadn’t I?”

“What?”

“To work.”

“No it wasn’t that—oh, never mind. You’re going to be late.”

Azira waved at Crowley as he left the shop, and Crowley jerked his head in response. He looked over to his boss, pulling out his sunglasses and placing them on his face, then said, “I’m going to be back here for a while.”

The owner sighed again. “Don’t shout too loud. Scaring off all my customers.”

The plants had never heard such an emotional edge in his voice before, as if he didn’t know whether he wanted to shout or cry. And halfway across London, Azira leaned against a shelf in a bookshop, a hand over the pleased smile mingled with the blush on his face.


	2. Chapter 2

Crowley stepped off the bus at the closest stop to the sandwich shop they were going to, adjusting his skinny jeans when he realized Azira hadn’t arrived yet. He ran his hands over the half-up bun he’d done with his hair, making sure for the umpteenth time that there were no bumps or chunks of hair out of place. He adjusted his shirt, ensuring the ‘v’ was in just the right place, and he adjusted his jacket. He watched the next bus pull up, and Azira stepped off in his trousers, waistcoat, and coat. He smiled his perfect smile at Crowley when he noticed the redhead. Crowley melted.

“Isn’t it a bit hot out for all that black, dear?”

Crowley smirked and cocked his head a bit.

“You’re one to talk, with all those layers,” he retorted.

“I suppose so,” Azira conceded. “Shall we?”

“Whenever you’re ready, angel,” Crowley slipped, his face going bright crimson at the same time as Azira went pink at the ears. A tiny, too tiny to see, smile tugged at his lips.

A string of curses streamed through his mind, and he took a half step away from the curly-headed blond like he was getting ready to run away as fast as his spindly legs could carry him. He had to think of some excuse.

“Well, better to get the embarrassment out now rather than Saturday, eh?” he said with a wan smile.

“Oh,” Azira murmured, the smile fading. “Do you really think so?”

“They’ll know something’s up if we act like _that,_ won’t they?”

Azira hummed in agreement, and Crowley’s heart inched part of the way back down into his chest where it belonged. Then, Azira held his arm out, and Crowley looked at it uncomprehendingly. The blond huffed and shook his arm a bit. “Well, go on then! Grab ahold!”

Crowley blinked once, twice, before bursting into laughter for several seconds, bending over at the waist. But, when he managed to unfold himself, he tucked his arm through Azira’s, watching as Azira’s pursed lips relaxed at the physical contact.

“Ngk,” Crowley uttered as he felt the warmth of his angel’s arm seeping through his jacket. He suddenly recalled that they hadn’t touched since about the age of 13. His heart continued to take up residence in his throat.

“Well, if you’re quite done with all of that, are you ready to dine, darling?”

The word flowed so smoothly off his tongue—almost as if it was natural. Crowley felt like he was on cloud nine, contented and feeling like syrup drizzled on a stack of well-made pancakes. Unfortunately, he still couldn’t get words out, so he simply nodded, and Azira gave him just one more beat before moving forward, tugging Crowley gently along as if he were a dog on a leash.

Even without a leash, Crowley thought wistfully, he’d follow Azira anywhere.

His traitorous fingers gripped onto the coat underneath them without him asking them to, clinging to the moment just a little bit longer. Even if Azira was faking, Crowley was sure that he’d be able to sustain himself on the rest of this week for the rest of his life. He pushed up his sunglasses just a little more with his free hand—couldn’t have Azira noticing the glances Crowley was sending his way every other moment, taking in his features from this close proximity.

He was scrutinizing Azira’s face so closely that he didn’t notice that he almost ran into a lamp post, a fire hydrant, and two children on their way to the sandwich shop. Luckily, Azira was able to very skillfully pull Crowley just a little closer each time so that the redhead didn’t even notice it was happening. The blond pressed his hand against Crowley’s back when he held the door open for the slender man, smiling brightly.

“After you,” he said. Crowley could feel his knees get at least ten percent weaker with Azira’s hand on his lower back, just high enough for it to still be proper. He walked into the little sandwich shop, squaring his shoulders as he approached the counter. Suddenly, he almost felt a little competitive. He couldn’t just let his angel outdo him in the romance department. It’d be embarrassing after him spending so long thinking about it.

“What’ll you have?” asked the woman at the register, looking at Crowley with a bit of a lifted eyebrow. Usually the people who patronized this shop didn’t wear all black, or have tattoos, or have earrings if they were a man.

Generally, no one under the age of thirty came in this shop either.

“I’ll have your meatball sub, go light on the cheese,” he asserted, and he could feel Azira’s presence behind him, politely waiting for him to move to the side so that he could also order. Not today. “And he—“ Crowley jerked his head toward the man behind him who looked a lot more like he belonged here—“he’ll have one of your gyros.” He briefly looked at Azira’s surprised face, examining it carefully. “The lamb.”

The cashier read him his total, and he whipped out just the right amount of cash from his wallet, dropping a more than sufficient tip into the tip jar. He whirled around, determination briefly rushing through him more powerful than embarrassment or anything else, and he wrapped his arm around Azira’s.

“Let’s go find a table, angel,” he murmured, keeping a respectful distance away from Azira—still, he was still aware that this wasn’t real even as he desperately wanted it to be. He’d never want to make his angel uncomfortable, but in his defense the blond had introduced arm-touching first, so he felt like it was a safe move to make.

“That was a good choice for me,” Azira commented as soon as they’d settled into their seats next to the window. He twisted the little gold ring he always kept on his little finger.

“Yeah, we’ve been friends for forever, y’know?” Crowley swallowed. What he said was true, and yet it still didn’t fully explain how he knew that Azira would prefer the lamb to the chicken or beef on this particular day, and he knew it. The real answer was that Crowley had loved Azira for forever, and had been watching his habits for forever. He would probably be able to tell which pair of socks Azira had worn that day by the way he was walking, if he tried hard enough.

Crowley sighed.

“Are you alright, dear?” Azira asked. Oh, his eyes looked so concerned. Even though he wasn’t really romance material for the blond, he clearly mattered to him. The thought perked him up a bit.

“Just thinking.”

“Penny for your thoughts?”

“How about a million?” Crowley responded instantly, a cheeky grin spreading over his face. Azira huffed, rolling his eyes playfully.

“Oh, they must be rather impressive thoughts then, to be worth that much. Out with it, and I won’t eat both of our sandwiches.”

“Zira, take pity! I’m wasting away!” Crowley complained, dramatically draping himself over the chair and running one hand down his visible ribs. He looked back at the blond with one eyebrow raised. His expression was incredibly soft, the kind of look that Crowley stared at to burn into his mind so he could remember it again, and again, and again. Then Azira seemed to remember himself, and looked to the side with a smile.

“Oh, alright. I’ll let you have your sandwich.”

“Thank you, o gracious one.”

Their food arrived, and both of them thanked the cashier for their food before digging in. Crowley inhaled his sandwich faster than you could say the first couple of sentences of your favorite book, and then he immediately chugged all of his water, washing down anything still in his mouth, then setting down the cup in an uncharacteristically gentle way.

“You really do eat to live,” Azira said, taking another small bite of his gyro. He moaned at the taste, and Crowley felt his ears heating up.

“And you really live to eat,” he retorted, settling in to watch his friend finish his meal. He looked out the window every so often, just for politeness’ sake. The gentle grip of those fingers capable of so much strength, the closure of his eyes with nearly every bite, the way his lips—

He needed to stop thinking, he thought with a heavy swallow, or he was going to end up with a problem.

Finally, blessedly, Azira was finished with his food. He dabbed at his mouth with a napkin, and groaned one more time.

“That was scrumptious,” he said, and Crowley smiled a small, genuine smile.

I chose that, he wanted to say. I made you feel that good, he wanted to say.

He didn’t say either.

“Would you like to take a walk around the park nearby, dear?” his angel asked. “It seems a shame for you to be on the bus for so long only to spend such a short time here.”

I’d travel an endless number of hours, he wanted to say, for just a moment with you.

And he meant it.

But he didn’t say it.

He shrugged instead.

“Sure, I’ve got nothing better to do.”


	3. Chapter 3

The sky was exactly the color of Azira’s eyes, and the gentle breeze that brushed back Crowley’s hanging locks sent pleasant shivers skittering down his spine. They were locked, arm in arm, and Crowley’s heart alternated between being lodged in his throat and soaring high above his body. They took slow, easy circles around the large pond surrounded by reeds and willow trees, chatting and laughing with each other. Despite how flustered Crowley had been when Azira and he had first touched, his heart had calmed to a reasonable level, and he was amazed at Azira’s level of calm.

Well, it was easy to be calm when you were touching someone you didn’t see as more than a friend, Crowley supposed.

The thought couldn’t even dampen his spirits, though, as they stopped in front of a bunch of ducks. Crowley untangled himself from Azira, getting as close to the edge of the pond as he possibly could without falling in, and tried to look one in the eyes. As he was in his to-the-death stare down with the littlest one, Azira watched him with unbridled affection in his eyes. Crowley, obviously, didn’t see his look.

Crowley broke the eye contact when the duck turned decidedly away from him. He folded his arms over his chest and frowned.

“Yeah, you better run away,” he muttered, turning back to an Azira who was very obviously trying not to laugh. Crowley decided to ignore this, cocking a smirk and walking on the path once more. He walked just a little in front of Azira, swinging his hips even more than usual when he walked. It’s what he would have done if they were actually dating—and they were pretending, weren’t they?

Oh, but he shouldn’t do that on Saturday, not when they were pretending for an audience, so he shouldn’t do it here either. He slowed down, shoving his hands in his pockets and hunching over just a bit. Guilt struck at his gut.

“Should I get new clothes for Saturday, do you think?”

“Why would you?” Azira questioned back, gesturing for him to sit down on a bench. He did, but it wasn’t the haphazard sprawl that he was accustomed to. His knees were together and he slouched in on himself a bit.

“So I don’t—“ Crowley stuttered here, and looked away from his angel. “So I don’t embarrass you. Make your family think less of you.”

“Crowley,” Azira said sternly, “you are perfectly fine the way you are. You could never embarrass me.”

“Except my twenty-first birthday,” Crowley retorted, but there was a bit of a smile back on his face, and he sprawled once again. Azira’s eyes turned upward as if he was saying a prayer before looking back down at the redhead with an exasperated expression.

“You tried to _strip_ in front of almost a hundred people,” Azira sighed. “And then you kept trying to dance with me almost completely—“

“Well, the past’s the past, eh?” Crowley hurriedly uttered. He’d forgotten about that little bit. “Your twenty-first—“

“Was fabulously entertaining,” Azira murmured contentedly. His hand laid down on the bench, almost brushing against Crowley’s thigh. Crowley willed it to get closer, just a bit. Or perhaps he could grab it, hold it, and play it off as practice if anyone asked.

Crowley blinked slowly, savoring the sight of Azira’s hand _almost_ touching his thigh, then returned his gaze to the pond in front of him. He sighed as he folded his arms over his chest, successfully locking away any chance of holding the blond’s hand.

“So I was thinking,” Crowley murmured, “we need to have a story down, for questions. So it doesn’t all go pear-shaped.”

“I like pears,” Azira sighed wistfully. “Haven’t had a good pear in a while.”

“Zira, be serious.”

“I am,” the blond retorted, “the quality of pears we’ve been getting this year is just terrible.”

“When did we get together?” Crowley asked, ignoring Azira’s pear crisis and getting back to the matter at hand.

“Well,” Azira hummed, pressing a finger to his lip, “I’m not sure. When do you think we should’ve gotten together?”

At the very latest sixteen, Crowley wanted to say, but maybe as early as fourteen. Before that, Crowley knew that he wasn’t mature enough to handle actually being with the person he’d loved as far back as he could remember. But after sixteen, he’d always had this sort of desperate feeling in his chest, like something was trying to claw its way out to meet his angel. He’d gotten used to it, of course, but that didn’t mean it was any more pleasant than when the desperation had started.

He didn’t say all of that, for obvious reasons. He just made a sort of noncommittal sound.

“When do you think?”

“Oh, I think we won’t be expected to be as affectionate if we’ve been together longer,” Azira murmured, sliding his gaze over to the stoically-looking-forward Crowley, “so maybe since we were seventeen? Eighteen?”

“I think seventeen’s good,” Crowley commented, “and how did we get together?”

“Do you want it to be dramatic?” Azira asked, and from his voice the redhead could tell that he was being completely serious.

“Probably best if we’re a bit more subtle,” Crowley pointed out. “No epic fantasy sort of stuff.”

“Boo,” Azira said. “Well then, I suppose I just asked you to lunch one time and made it romantic.”

“We always go for lunch,” Crowley said.

“That’s why it’s brilliant. No one will be able to tell that we’re deceiving them.”

“Right.” Crowley’s heart fluttered as he considered the fantasy. Maybe his performance would be more realistic if he could believe it himself, he thought in a poorly-disguised haze of self-deception. The truth was that he wanted to pretend for a couple of days. Now only if he could get Azira to stop mentioning that they were faking it until it was over.

He could imagine Azira asking him to lunch, perhaps to a shop like the one they went to earlier in the afternoon. Azira pulling out his chair, reaching across the table to hold onto his hand and look him in the eyes, pulling off his sunglasses so he could really _see_ his eyes—

He could imagine how surprised he would have been, how his heart would have just poured out of his mouth, if Azira had done those things when they were that young. It was not so now. Crowley had better control of himself, now.

“What did you get me for our anniversary last year?” Azira questioned, and Crowley had an answer ready.

“A first edition Wilde text,” he answered.

“Crowley, I don’t _have_ a first edition Wilde. You know I’ve been looking for one that won’t throw me too far off my budget.”

“I’ve got one,” Crowley replied. “Was going to give it to you for your birthday this year. Can just give it to you early, I guess.”

“You must be joking.”

“I’m not. I can bring it to the bookshop tomorrow, drop it off with you, then it’ll be in your possession for Saturday.”

“Oh, my dear,” Azira said, and the sugar in his voice was almost _too much_. “Thank you.”

The smile on his face was blinding. Crowley opened and shut his mouth a couple of times before he could actually say anything.

“Don’t need to thank me,” he responded. “Just being a good friend.”

“Oh, but this is—“

“It’s alright, angel,” he said, looking over at Azira behind his sunglasses.

“If you insist,” he replied, looking up at the sky. “Now we need to figure out what I gifted _you._”

“Oh, we could say that little black jewel orchid I picked up last year came from you,” Crowley mused. The blond made a sound like he was scandalized.

“Absolutely _not,_” his angel responded. “It has to be something I actually got you.”

Crowley hummed, trying to think. Usually he just wanted to spend time with Azira for his birthdays and any other holidays, which he played off as liking the atmosphere in quiet restaurants and not wanting to go on ridiculous adventures alone. So, it had been some time since Azira had actually gotten him some sort of physical gift.

“I’ll get you something before tomorrow,” Azira said. “It’s only right that way.”

“If you insist,” Crowley echoed Azira’s earlier statement, heart fluttering. He wondered what kind of thing his angel would come up with for him. A plant would probably be the easiest thing, but how do you buy a plant for someone who has very little shelving space left to put them on?

“Oh, look at the time,” Azira said, looking at his pocket watch. He clipped it shut, then stood. “We’d better get you home.”

“Right,” Crowley replied, and took Azira’s offered hand to help him get up. The blond didn’t let him go when he was properly on his feet, instead tucking his hand into the crook of Azira’s other arm. He could get used to this, he thought, if only for a weekend.


	4. Chapter 4

The entire next day Crowley paced circles around his flat, in his bedroom until he got bored of being there, in the hallway until one of his roommates, Hastur, came out of his room and got aggravated with having to squeeze past him, and in the living room until his other roommate, Ligur, got aggravated with his passing in front of the tv and threatened to rip his right arm off. He lied back on his bed, unmade and messy, and stared out his window. He let his gaze drift over to the plants surrounding the window, and then the ones further away from it. They were all so gorgeous, healthy and strong.

  
Not as gorgeous as his angel, Crowley’s brain helpfully supplied, and he remembered why he was pacing again.

  
Azira had called him after Crowley texted that he’d gotten home safe (for Azira always called and never texted), and the blond had told him that they should go on another practice date after he finished work. Just for practice.

  
“He said it would be our anniversary dinner,” Crowley murmured into his pillow, squeezing it tight to his chest. “This would be number seven, he said.”

  
A knock sounded at the door, and Crowley shot upright, shoving the pillow back to the head of the bed in an attempt to look dignified. It was pretty hard to look dignified when the only thing he was wearing was a pair of gray boxers and a black tank top.

  
“Crowley, you alright?” Ligur asked, his dark head popping in through the now-open door. “Are you talking to yourself again?”

  
“No.”

They both knew he was.

“Did something happen with, er, what’s ‘is name, the prissy one—“

“Azira,” Crowley supplied. He wasn’t irritated with Ligur’s assessment of his best friend; he knew that he only had that impression of him from their school days, and to be fair he was fussy about a lot of things.

“Yeah, that’s the one. Did something happen with ‘im?”

Crowley quickly went over the situation, explaining everything in as much detail as he could. He knew Ligur wouldn’t judge his moral fiber for putting himself in a precarious position, but he might—

“Oi, Hastur! Get a load of this!” Ligur cried when Crowley was telling him about what they’d planned for this evening. The young man dashed off down the hall, probably to get his best friend and tell him what an idiot he was. Crowley huffed and rolled his eyes before looking at the bright, modern clock at his bedside. That was a good way to kill half an hour, he supposed. Cackles filled the flat, and Crowley grabbed his pillow again. If they weren’t going to be helpful, he might as well go back to talking to himself.

Several hours later, once he’d paced the entire flat again and again, he actually put on clothes. He chose a button-down instead of a t-shirt this time, and added a black tie that shimmered red at certain angles, and chose a more formal black jacket. The skinny jeans stayed, though. He stood in the bathroom fussing with his hair for well over half an hour, fixing each individual piece how he wanted it, twisting a small portion of it back and pinning it with a bobby pin.

He looked over at the book, carefully packaged and with a bow made out of plain twine, feeling it was lacking something. He hummed, and the plants in the next room over would have shivered if they knew what that hum meant. He snipped an orange tiger lily off of its parent plant, and laid it on the packaging. That was a bit better, he thought.

“Good luck,” Hastur remarked as Crowley strode past the pair of his roommates on the couch.

“Wait,” Ligur said. “You’ve a hair on your jacket.”

Crowley brushed it off with thanks, then dodged out the door with the package in hand. He would not be riding the Harley today, either—the book was too precious to risk something happening to it, so he was taking the bus.

A short bus ride later, and he was striding up to the bookshop, stepping through the heavy doors. The bell above him jangled to signal his arrival, and he tried not to sneeze as the dust entered his nose. Used books lined the shelves, and a cheerful young man minded the till, which had a couple people buzzing around it as it usually did. Crowley wound his way around the shelves, moving to the back of the shop. He knew that Azira would be somewhere near the back, doing inventory. He never liked working the till—too many people.

Crowley puttered about silently until he saw another employee, one he’d seen a couple of times, and she raised an eyebrow at him, the package, and the lily. She came over to him as Crowley tried to back away but failed. She was too fast.

“Are you looking for something, Mr. Crowley?”

“I—er, I’m looking for Azira Fell,” he stammered. “We’re, uh, supposed to be going on a date tonight.”

“Oh?” she murmured, looking at him up and down. “I thought you were dressed a little better than usual. He’s in the back; I can take you to him.”

Crowley thanked her, and she led him to the back room where they sorted their new inventory. Azira was sitting on the floor, looking over the condition of books, scribbling notes on a pad of paper to the side. The employee jumped up onto the desk next to him.

“Mr. Fell, your boyfriend’s here,” she said in a sing-song voice.

“Boyfr—“ Azira spluttered as he turned sharply before seeing Crowley. “Oh, it’s you, Crowley.”

“I thought you told me he—“

“Not now, Krissy,” Azira pleaded, actually pleaded, and he stood up, smoothing down his waistcoat and his trousers. His coat was hanging on the chair of the desk that Krissy was sitting on.

“You’ll tell me about it later,” she hummed, hopping back off the desk and leaving the room.

“Did I come too early?” asked Crowley, fully aware that he had, in fact, come too early. He just couldn’t stand the waiting anymore, but he was only about half an hour early—he got off the bus a station early.

“Just a—just a bit, dear,” Azira said, scrambling to pick up everything he’d left on the floor and stacking the books gently on the desk into two different stacks. He picked up the pad of paper and pen, sliding it into a drawer and locking it shut, and then he turned back to Crowley. “Give me ten minutes and I’ll be tickety-boo.”

“I’ll wait,” Crowley murmured, leaning against the doorframe with his hip cocked out. “Don’t rush yourself, angel.”  
Azira turned away with a bit of a cough, scooping up his jacket from the chair.

“It’s so dusty in here sometimes,” he excused himself. “I’ll be back in just a moment!”

And then he was gone, and Crowley slipped over to the desk, sitting down in the massive, plush chair. His natural instincts when he sat took over, and after setting the lily and the package on the desk, he sprawled, spreading one arm over each side of the wood-rimmed armchair and spreading his legs as far as he possibly could go. He felt like the embodiment of Sloth, and he loved it. The wood was almost as dark as his fingernails, which he had painted black during his many-hour wait prior to his departure, and the cushion was a blood red velvet, the kind of color that red wines appeared to be in commercials. This back room was small, and warm, and had a very comfortable feeling—the same comfortable feeling he felt when he walked into a room and saw Azira in it. Maybe that was why.

This situation was ridiculous—he was about to go on a fake date with his best friend so that he could pretend to be his boyfriend accurately for a day. But, he thought to himself, a smile coming to his face briefly as his eyes passed over his gift for his angel, he was stopping his own act. Just for a couple of days. The stage lights were off, and he was relaxing into a role he’d wanted ever since he knew what it meant to date someone. In a few days, they would come on again, and he would begin his performance that he didn’t want to date Azira once again.

He’d remember these days for the rest of his life, he could feel it in his bones.

A soft sort of sleepiness drifted over Crowley, the sort of sleepiness one feels when wrapped in a blanket fresh out of the dryer or when going back to sleep after waking up in the morning. His eyes fluttered shut, and his breathing deepened. He’d entirely lost the urgency he’d had earlier to keep his hair perfect, suit jacket perfectly pressed, and button-down shirt free of wrinkles. He felt . . . safe.

“Crowley?” a soft voice drifted into the called’s ears at the same time as a thick hand pressed his shoulder. The redhead jerked awake, jumping up out of the chair and spinning around to face a very startled Azira. He took in a deep breath.

“I took a bit longer than I expected, but not nearly long enough to warrant falling asleep,” Azira said, looking at Crowley with a bit of a skeptical look in his eye.

“Didn’t get much sleep last night,” Crowley murmured, hands automatically traveling up to his hair to check it.

“You look very put-together still,” Azira soothed his worries, and Crowley’s hands dropped back to his sides.

“I’d better,” he grumbled, reaching behind him until he felt what he wanted to grab—the package. He pulled it around in front of himself, then pushed it toward the blond, hands only trembling a little bit. “Here. Before something happens to it.”

“Oh Crowley, this is beautiful,” Azira exclaimed as he took hold of the package and the flower in separate hands. He pulled the lily up to his nose, taking a deep breath in before opening his eyes and looked at Crowley, who almost fell over at the intensity. His eyes looked so much more blue when contrasted with the orange of the tiger lily. His gaze pinned Crowley to the spot, and he felt like actual chains were wrapped around him, keeping him in place. “Did you grow this?”

The redhead shrugged. “’S not a big deal.”

“It’s absolutely gorgeous, dear,” Azira insisted, and Crowley’s heart melted. He felt like Azira was praising him rather than the flower, and he liked it. He didn’t like how much he liked it.

“I don’t grow any other kind,” he said, instead of thank you.

“Would you mind terribly much if I wait to give you your gift until after dinner?” Azira questioned, looking down at everything once more. He smiled at Crowley, letting out a breath.

“Course not, Zira,” Crowley responded, very much minding. He wanted to know what Azira thought he would like. It was probably a plant. But where could he hide a plant for that long? Maybe it was a very small plant, or seeds.

“Mr. Fell!” Krissy called in a sing-song voice as she traipsed into the room. “I found an old vase and Mrs. Randall says we can use it to hold that flower!”

Her little freckled hands held out a long, thin, crystalline vase with frost on the bottom like it was a chalice meant for a king. Water already sloshed in the vase, which was clean and seemingly in good condition. It looked like a vase Azira would use, Crowley thought with a bit of a grin.

“Oh, thank you,” Azira said, a touch of surprise coloring his tone. He set the lily’s stem down into the vase, and Krissy set the vase on the desk, far enough away from either edge that no one would be able to bump it and shatter it.

“I’ll take care of it for you over the weekend,” she promised, “and then when you come back to work you’ll see it and think of him even though you have to be here.”

“I don’t think I’ll need any help doing that, dear girl,” Azira said, eyes sliding over to Crowley, “but, thank you. I’ll leave it in your care, then.”

Crowley gave him a bit of a smile, and Azira looked down at his pocket watch.

“Would you look at that—my shift is finished!”

“See you on Monday, Mr. Fell,” Krissy chirped, a mischievous smile spreading across her freckled face.

“Yes, I will see you then,” Azira returned, wrapping his arm around Crowley’s and shifting until those black fingernails were securely nestled in the crook of his elbow. Electricity zipped up Crowley’s arm, straight into his heart, still. Despite his best efforts, a shaky smile came to his lips.

The pair of them left the bookshop, arm in arm, and Azira stopped at the bus stop to wait for it to arrive. Crowley could feel his eyes on him, and he looked back in return.

“Is something wrong?”

“Before we start, well,” Azira began, eyes suddenly flicking away, and then back again, “how much would you be alright with? Touch, I mean.”

Anything, Crowley thought. He almost wanted to beg for it. If he could get his fill—

Azira blinked. “Anything? Surely, dear, you must have something you don’t want me to do.”

Oh, he’d said that one out loud. He wanted to melt into the pavement under his feet, become one with the still sun-warm earth, but then he took a chance and looked back at Azira. After all, he was wearing his sunglasses and the blond couldn’t actually see where he was looking.

Based on the look on Azira’s face, Crowley decided to try to play it off casually.

“I’m pretty relaxed, angel. Nothing much fazes me.”

The bus came, and they got on.

“So, you wouldn’t be upset if I did . . . this?” Azira’s hand wound down to Crowley’s just after sitting down.

Oh, what bliss! The warm, weighted feeling of fingers surrounding his, of pleasant tingles snaking up his arm and resting in his arm. Crowley felt like if he died right there and right then, that he would be happy in death. And Azira was just holding his hand.

“’S alright,” he managed to say, trying to regain control over his vocal chords. He was lucky he hadn’t gasped when he’d felt Azira touch his hand. He couldn’t look at Azira, couldn’t see the apathy on his face. He just . . . needed to pretend that this was real, just for a little while.

“What about . . . what about your face?” Azira questioned, coughing in the middle of his sentence.

“’S fine.”

“Ears?”

“’S fine.” His heart beat faster at the thought.

“Waist?”

“It’s fine, Zira. It’s all fine,” Crowley asserted. “I’ll tell you if something’s not fine.”

“I’ll err on the side of caution,” Azira responded. “I’d hate to make you uncomfortable.”

“You don’t need to,” Crowley mumbled, hoping desperately that he wouldn’t. “But whatever.”

Just let me hold this hand, Crowley begged internally. Just for a little while. Luckily, Azira didn’t think about letting go until they stood up, when they’d arrived at their stop. He helped Crowley to his feet and ushered him off the bus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I'm going to try to update this about once a week, unless my school projects catch up with me too much. Please let me know what you think about this, I'd really appreciate it!


	5. Chapter 5

“Fell, party of two,” Crowley’s angel told the hostess when she looked at them expectantly. Befitting her training, she didn’t give either of the gentlemen—one dressed all in black and wearing sunglasses indoors, the other looking like he had just walked out of a period drama—a strange look. She simply marked it down and led them to their table, a small one in the corner. Crowley took the seat that was backed against the wall, and Azira took the one that had its back to the room. Azira sat, prim and proper, as Crowley oozed into the seat and relaxed.

“Dearest—“ Crowley choked; he still wasn’t used to hearing that—“don’t you think you should take off your sunglasses? We’re inside, after all, and it’s fairly dark in here.”

Crowley hemmed and hawed, but he found that he could hardly ever deny his angel anything. He pulled them away from his face, and the world suddenly became so much brighter. For several moments, the room almost spun, the lights bursting in front of his eyes and the people suddenly felt so much louder and bigger and—

He slipped his sunglasses back on. “Don’t think I can do it, Zira,” he responded, his ears burning. “It’s—ngk. It’s too much.”

“Oh, in that case I apologize. Maybe later, then, when we’re alone.”

Crowley blinked. Alone? That made it sound like they weren’t just doing this for— He wasn’t going to even think it. This was real to him for the weekend. No reason why they shouldn’t be alone.

“Maybe, yeah,” he agreed, safely behind his sunglasses once again.

Azira ordered for the both of them, and they chattered and bickered about many things until their food came. As usual, Azira tucked into his food right away while Crowley watched his face light up with an absolutely smitten look on his face. He’d never get tired of that activity, he thought with a bit of a sigh. Then he began on his own food, eating just enough until he wasn’t hungry anymore and then looking over at his angel.

“‘M full.” That was all he said, but through their years of friendship and going out to eat together, those two words—a word and a half, really—had taken on a special meaning. Without speaking, Azira held out his plate, and Crowley pushed his food onto the other’s plate too quickly and quietly for any waitstaff to notice, if they had even been paying attention to the two men in the corner. That was why, when they went for dinner, Azira almost always ordered for Crowley. Because Crowley wasn’t picky, and Azira would be able to finish his food. He wanted to get something that his angel would like.

Once Azira was finished with his food, and they had split the bill as they always did, Azira reached over and grabbed onto Crowley’s hand as they left the restaurant. Crowley’s fingers clenched instinctively, and he felt the burn of embarrassment in his cheeks.

“Let’s go for a little stroll, hm?” Azira asked, running his thumb over Crowley’s. The latter almost fell over in surprise at the soft words spoken so close, so close. All he could do was nod, and let Azira pull him along to a park that ran through a long, narrow strip of the city. The street lights grew farther and farther apart as they delved into its depths, and then as they left the beaten track they stopped shining at all, through the trees. Just soft ambient light from the surrounding buildings—it was like being in the middle of the forest just at dusk, though it was a little past dusk.

“Is it too bright here, still, Crowley?” his angel questioned. Crowley looked at the soft smile on Azira’s face, the understanding in his eyes, and for the umpteenth time since he saw the angel, he melted. The redhead shook his head, pulling his sunglasses off his face and folding them before hanging them on the front of his shirt. Azira laughed, and his hand came up to cover his mouth.

“What?” he asked, but a smile came over his face before he even knew what Azira was laughing about.

“Something about the glasses with the button down and the tie—“ Azira continued his fit of giggles. “I don’t know why it’s so funny to me.”

Crowley smiled, looking over at Azira affectionately as he gently swung his hip to bump Azira’s. The blond startled, and his giggles calmed.

“So, boyfriend of seven years,” Crowley teased, “what did you get me for our anniversary?”

A small box appeared from Azira’s sleeve, almost as if he’d had the magic trick planned the entire time they’d been walking or even before, but then the blond fumbled the box. Crowley snatched it out of the air before it hit the ground, then deposited it gently back into Azira’s soft palm. His angel’s ears burned, and Crowley rolled his eyes with an exaggerated huff.

“Don’t know why I bother,” he teased, but then broke the illusion that he was cranky by breaking into a wide smile.

“I almost had it,” Azira protested. “I just need to practice a bit more.”

“Maybe next year you’ll have it,” Crowley encouraged. Azira gave him a bright smile, which Crowley matched.

“Oh, perhaps I could try a show at the family reunion—“

“Wait, angel, no—“

Azira rambled on about the kinds of tricks he could perform as Crowley hemmed and hawed about how he’d never be his assistant until he could do a magic trick properly, otherwise they’d just embarrass themselves. Then, as they began to walk back along the trail they’d come into the park on, Azira seemed to finally remember the small black box in his hand.

“Oh, right,” he uttered, holding out the black box. He pulled it open with his other hand, and Crowley gasped. A bronze snake pendant with ruby eyes on a chain was perfectly propped in the box, each scale visible and beautiful. A pair of ruby earrings, little pendants that looked as though they were the pupil of a snake, sat a bit higher in the display, but were no less beautiful than the pendant and chain. Crowley’s fingers gently brushed against Azira’s as he cradled the box as if it were a child.

“Where on _Earth_ did you get this?” he asked, voice a little breathless. His amber gaze flicked up, met Azira’s blue as his cheeks flushed with pleasure at the reaction he’d managed to elicit from Crowley.

“Oh, well,” Azira replied, trailing off. He didn’t seem to want to answer, and Crowley was willing to let it go. Crowley gently pried the box from Azira’s hands, and looked at him with curiosity gleaming in his eyes.

“D’you—d’you want me to wear it now?” he asked.

“Oh,” Azira breathed out. “Oh, yes, I think that would be rather nice.”

Crowley pulled his earrings out of the holes, carefully situating the backs on the posts and sliding them into his pocket. He had a dozen pairs like it at his flat, so he wasn’t particularly concerned with losing the one. Not right now, he wasn’t, anyway.

“Could you hold the necklace for a moment, angel?” Crowley requested, and Aziraphale gently worked the necklace out of the display, holding the pendant in his right hand as he held the box in his left. The little ruby dangling earrings went in easily, and Crowley smiled when they weren’t very heavy at all. Azira’s mouth fell open as Crowley grinned a little shyly at him.

“Oh, you’re _beautiful_,” Azira gasped, staying shock-still as he took in everything. In that moment, Crowley believed him. He could feel the flush rising in his face, and he turned around.

“Clasp’s a little small, can you help me?” the redhead asked. He had no idea if the clasp was small or not—he just wanted to hide the blush. He _hoped_ the clasp was small. He heard Azira swallow behind him, and then a quiet “yes, dear, of course.”

Shivers ricocheted down his spine as thick fingers brushed the hair away from his neck, and he bit down hard on his lip. It felt like sparks kissing his skin. It felt like light shining into the dark—and that was when Crowley rolled his eyes at himself. He needed to stop purple prosing about his situation and start enjoying it. It was going to be like a bubble—beautiful but fragile and swiftly burst.

It was over far too quickly. Crowley found himself swaying backwards as Azira’s fingers slipped away from him, but stopped himself and turned back around. He hoped the blush was gone by that point—but he had a sneaking suspicion that it wasn’t. He cleared his throat.

“Right. Well, then,” he murmured. “How does it look?”

Azira was silent for several seconds, looking over Crowley’s head and chest. Crowley’s heart sank after a few moments of silence.

“You don’t like it?” he questioned, hand beginning to trail up his shirt to hide the pendant from view.

“You’re _gorgeous,_” Azira praised, and a zing of pleasure ran down Crowley’s spine. That’s new, he thought to himself.

“You think so?” he asked. Azira’s fingers came up to his ears and brushed around the earrings. Crowley almost choked.

“I knew these would look so good on you,” he whispered, and Crowley’s eyes were suddenly a little more watery than they were before. A little more open than usual. He didn’t want to miss a moment of the tender expression on Aziraphale’s face as the latter played with his ears.

“Ngh,” Crowley grunted as his angel pulled on his ears a little, and his hands retracted like lightning.

“So sorry, dear. I didn’t mean to—“

“It’s fine, Zira,” Crowley responded, pulling a hand over his face to protect his blush. He pulled his sunglasses off of his shirt and put them back on; he wasn’t sure if he could take any more of this tonight. His heart felt like it was about to burst. He felt like he was dangerously close to dropping the pretense that his behavior was just an act. Couldn’t have that. He couldn’t have that.

“Time to go,” he insisted.

~~~

Crowley leaned against the door of his flat as he heard Azira’s footsteps walking back down the hall. For some reason, his angel had insisted on taking the bus back with him and even walking him all the way back to the flat. Crowley’s eyes were wide, terrified—not of Azira, never of Azira, but of himself. He had been so close to just reaching out, grabbing the collar of Azira’s coat, and pulling the two of them together. He had to be careful.

“Y’alright?” Ligur asked, giving him the raised eyebrow. It didn’t look like he or Hastur had moved since he had left. They were still curled up on the couch, watching something or another. The only difference was that Hastur’s toad and Ligur’s lizard had free reign of the coffee table in front of them.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” Crowley mumbled miserably. He gave the pair of them all of the details, each taking it in silently. Then, when Crowley was done, Hastur spoke up.

“We could make you have a—what was it—a shotgun wedding, if y’like,” he pronounced, then cackled in a high-pitched voice. Ligur laughed too, and then he settled down.

“Just tell him what’s goin’ on,” Ligur pressed. “If ‘e’s as good as you think, ‘e’ll take it and run with it.”

“I don’t want to make it awkward,” Crowley protested. “We’ve known each other since primary.”

“Longer than us?” Ligur questioned, like he couldn’t quite believe that. Crowley nodded.

“We were in the same class, right from the beginning. Right when I got placed with the Trumpets,” Crowley said, running a hand up under his sunglasses to cover his eyes. “He’s—he’s my best friend. I can’t lose him; no matter how bad I want him.”

“Then just enjoy this weekend,” Ligur said. “Don’t worry about what comes after—‘e’ll probably make it as normal as ‘e wants it to be.”

“Thanks,” Crowley murmured, pulling his sunglasses off. “I’m dead tired—going to bed.”

“Don’t forget to set your alarm,” Hastur chirped. “I’ll set Toad on you if you’re late.”

Crowley returned to his room amongst Hastur’s cackles and Ligur’s much quieter chuckles. Tomorrow would be interesting, he thought.


	6. Chapter 6

“Crowley, they’re waiting for you!” Azira’s normally mellow voice was shrill. Crowley swung his leg over his Harley, shouldering his phone as he grabbed his helmet and laid it in front of him.

“I know—ngk, sorry—I’m on the Harley now.”

“Wear you helmet,” Azira admonished.

“Wouldn’t dream of having it any other way, Zira,” Crowley replied.

“I’m serious, Anthony.” A thrill went down Crowley’s spine. Azira almost never used his first name.

“I know. See you soon.” He hung up the phone, handled the helmet until it hung on his head, then jammed the keys into the lock. He was about to break a couple of laws.

Fifteen minutes later Crowley pulled up to Azira’s family’s townhouse. He ripped the helmet off, tucking it between leather-clad elbow and leather-clad waist before looking at his angel—his very unusually dressed angel who was standing next to a black SUV. His hands were flapping a bit—he was stressed. Crowley kicked down the kickstand and swung his leg off his motorcycle before setting his helmet on the seat.

“Hey, sorry I’m late,” he drawled as he sauntered over to the group of four—Azira, Gabriel, Bee, and Azira and Gabriel’s mother. Bee rolled her eyes as Crowley approached.

“Overslept?” she asked, her voice buzzing. She sounded like an angry or unhappy boss.

“Needed my beauty sleep,” Crowley quipped back, holding an accompanying jab under his tongue. She looked tired, but anyone who worked as one of Lucifer’s hands was going to be. Crowley was surprised she was able to get the days off, frankly. Azira’s closest hand to him reached out and pulled him close. Crowley sucked in a breath, but otherwise didn’t do anything. He’d gotten all of his internal screaming out last night. Truth was, he hadn’t slept much. That was why he’d overslept.

“Well, Anthony, dear,” Azira’s mom said, pressing her little hands together, “we were just discussing what to do about the driving situation.”

“Azira’s too big to fit in the back with the bags,” Gabriel interrupted.

Azira flushed and his hand on Crowley’s waist tightened almost until Crowley winced.

“Well, it’s mostly your father’s fault,” Azira’s mom said, colored almost as pink as Azira was. “He’s got so many bags.”

“And I need every, single one of them,” Azira’s dad proclaimed as he exited the house. “Guess we’ll just have to leave you behind, chipmunk.”

Gabriel laughed at that, and Bee snickered in the way that made you question whether someone was laughing or not.

“Chipmunk,” Gabriel echoed. “That’s good.”

“Is that all you have?” Azira’s mom questioned, gesturing to Crowley’s backpack. He nodded, unable to speak for the rage bubbling inside him. He briefly wondered if it showed on his face.

“Well, if that’s it—“ her eyes sparkled—“then we could put your backpack with us and Azira could ride with you!” She sounded pleased with her problem-solving ability.

“Um, are you quite sure there’s no room—“ Azira began wringing his hands, removing the one from Crowley’s waist. Crowley suddenly felt much closer to just going feral.

“Zira, don’t you want to ride with your boyfriend?” Gabriel asked, a taunting smile on his face. Crowley narrowed his eyes.

“Well, of course I do, but—“

“Then there’s no problem,” Bee buzzed. “Let’s go; I’m getting impatient.” She opened the door to the car and climbed in, Gabriel close behind.

Azira’s protests went unheard, and Crowley’s fury went unuttered. He allowed Azira’s dad to take his bag while his mother went into the house and grabbed an extra motorcycle helmet. And then Crowley was mechanically putting the helmet onto his angel, because he’d be damned before the fit wasn’t right.

“Crowley,” Azira said softly as his mother stepped into the SUV.

“I don’t know how you put up with them,” Crowley growled as the door shut. “I’m sorry, Zira.”

“Don’t be,” the blond replied, still quietly. “I’m used to it. I just—I was wondering if I could make a request.”  
“Anything.”

And he meant it.

“Would you mind . . . going the limit, just this once?”

Oh, Crowley’s heart ached for Azira. The blond sounded sure that he wouldn’t get what he wanted. His lip trembled.

“Of course,” he said. “I’ll just follow the car—or I’ll go slower, if you want.” He placed his own helmet properly and seated himself on the bike, patting the seat behind him. “Get on, angel.”

He thought he could see his angel flush, but he was behind him too quickly for him to really see. Thick arms wrapped around his waist and squeezed, and Crowley almost had a heart attack. Each finger was a brand burning into his skin. He would never forget it.

The car pulled away from the curb.

“Ready?” Crowley squeaked out. Azira nodded, then said yes when he realized that the redhead couldn’t hear him. Crowley took off, starting off as slowly as he could so he didn’t startle Azira.

On the way there, Crowley would check in with Azira to make sure he was alright. He liked it when the fingers on his waist would grip into his clothes and press into his skin. He never wanted it to stop.

But all good things come to an end, Crowley thought sarcastically as they pulled into the campground that, allegedly, one of the Fell’s relatives owned. Trees grew around and overhead, and the drive was simply dirt. The Harley would need a wash, he thought ruefully as he parked next to the Fells’ SUV. Azira’s hands brushed his hips as they fell away, and Crowley almost squeaked.

“Let’s go, pork chops,” Azira’s father called. “Todd texted me five minutes ago saying that the game is about to start.”

Crowley blinked as he and Azira removed their helmets. “Game?”

“Oh, I never told you,” Azira said, looking Crowley up and down. “At least you’re not wearing shorts. Can you run in that?”

“Why would I need to run?” Crowley asked, his nose wrinkling as he put his sunglasses back on. It was cloudy that day, but he still liked the layer between him and the world. He pulled off his leather jacket.

“You’ll see when we get there,” Bee snapped. “Let’s go.”

Crowley suddenly realized that everyone but him was wearing athletic gear. Azira was wearing a beige tracksuit, Bee wore black basketball shorts and a gray t-shirt, Gabriel wore a tracksuit similar to Azira’s (and Crowley quite suspected that Azira’s wasn’t his, and even their parents were wearing clothes that would be easy to move in. In contrast, Crowley wore a pair of skinny jeans so tight that most bystanders would question how he actually managed to get them on, and a flowing shirt with a wide neck. He folded the leather jacket and set it under his helmet.

“As long as you can move as fast as you did that time you pulled the fire alarm,” Azira told him, wrapping a hand around Crowley’s wrist and pulling him toward a large building that looked like a dining hall, “you’ll be just fine. Perfectly tickety-boo.”

“I, ah—“ Crowley didn’t get to finish his sentence. They’d gone around the building in the time it took Crowley to process the blond’s words, and a couple dozen people stood in a massive circle. In the middle was a blindfolded child. Crowley felt an ever-increasing sense of unease growing inside him. Azira pulled him into an empty space in the circle, and then a brunette with severe features looked over at Azira with what could only be described as a sneer.

“Somebody a little on the slow side this morning?” she asked, and then blinked as she took Crowley in. “It was this lovely little pest, wasn’t it? You’re going to lose out, Azira; he’s not dressed to win.”

“He is not a pest, Michael,” Azira responded firmly, watching the kid in the middle. She seemed a bit dizzy as she began to walk toward the edge of the circle. “He’s my boyfriend.”

“Ngk,” Crowley grunted out as his fingers tightened around Azira’s wrist. Azira hadn’t so directly said what they were pretending to be yet, and the word made him so distracted that he didn’t quite notice when the child fell into a pair of adults who immediately began cheering. And then he didn’t quite notice when they started counting. Loudly.

He did notice when Azira took off toward the woods just like everyone else in the circle. Mostly because he was jerked almost off his feet by his connection to Azira.

“Run, Crowley!”

Crowley was not good at running.


	7. Chapter 7

“Zira, what the—“ Crowley yelped as he was dragged along. It took him several long strides to catch his balance, and several more before he was fully up to speed. “What is this—what is any of this?”

“I’ll tell you later, just—just run,” Azira panted miserably as he almost tripped over a root. “This is actually important—ugh—believe it or not.”

Crowley kept pace alongside his angel, but he could feel his breath getting shorter and shorter, and he could see that Azira’s was getting short quite a bit more slowly.

“S-slow down a second,” Crowley panted. He let out a cough as the pair of them slowed to a walk. “Where—are we—going?” A cough punctuated each word, and Azira looked at him in concern, pulling him closer and rubbing on his back.

“Do you—are you alright, dear?”

“Just answer the question—I’m fine,” Crowley nigh-snapped. Even though he was very, very fast when running for a short time, he always hated it and couldn’t run for very long. The hand on his back was so warm, though. It was worth the running.

“We need to hide,” Azira responded but that answer didn’t make Crowley feel any better. “Are you okay? Can we run?”

“Give me another second,” Crowley said, looking around a bit. They’d gotten fairly far into the woods—Crowley couldn’t see the big building they’d started by. He also saw a bit of a gap in the forest floor. “What’s that?”

Azira looked at him, then looked around. “What do you mean? What’s what?”

“This over here,” Crowley responded, trotting forward and peering at the small ravine that was just a little wider than Azira was. He looked down and saw that it wasn’t too deep; it was probably just a little taller than he was. “What’s this?”

“Oh.” Azira joined Crowley on the edge of the ravine, and he hummed. “It’s a good thing we didn’t fall down there. This must’ve opened up recently. It wasn’t here a couple of years ago.”

“Think we could hide down there?” Crowley asked. “I think—oh, there we go.”

Crowley located a path down and approached it. It was steep, but it would do.

“We have just a couple of minutes to hide,” Azira told him. “If we go down there we won’t have time to come back up.”

The words made Crowley back away from the slope he’d located. He mumbled out something that sounded like an apology and then grabbed onto Azira’s wrist. “We’d better get going again, then. Wouldn’t do to run out of time.”

Crowley tugged. Azira remained completely still. He wrapped his hand around Crowley’s in return and held him in place.

“Wait just a minute, dear,” his angel said, looking over the ravine appraisingly. “I’d say that’s just as likely a place as any. Let’s try it!”

So skittering down the rocks Crowley went, leaning back to keep his balance. He was very glad he wasn’t wearing particularly nice clothes.

It was always this way, between the two of them. Crowley frequently had an idea—not that many of them were good ideas, especially when they were younger—and then Azira would either shut the idea down or he wouldn’t. When he didn’t, Crowley would do it first, to see what would happen. That was why Crowley still felt weird about the whole fake dating escapade—it defied the order that they had always had. Azira had had the idea, and Crowley had okayed it. Azira had gone first too—first to initiate physical contact between them again after so long. And then, Crowley had followed.

And it was so easy it was scary.

“Okay, Zira, I think you can come down now,” Crowley called up from the bottom of the small slope. It wasn’t quite as steep as he had believed it to be before he essentially fell down it.

“Are you—are you quite sure?” Azira was wringing his hands and his tennis shoes knocked a pebble down the slope, sending the sound bouncing around. Crowley planted one shoe back up on the slope and reached up behind him. His hands almost reached to the height of Azira’s feet. He flexed his hands like he was grabbing.

“Zira, here. Trust me. I won’t let you fall.”

Azira hesitated for only one moment more, and then he crouched and reached down for the redhead’s slender hands. An alarm, one kind of like a bullhorn, sounded somewhere behind the blond and to his right.

“They’re coming now,” Azira commented. He bit down on a yelp as he slipped down the slope and Crowley huffed as Azira’s bulk pressed into him at high speed. But, as promised, Crowley held him, and then he let go.

“Who is coming?” Crowley asked, eyes wide. He felt that confusion and panic that he’d felt when they started running well up within him again. He needed to know what was going on, for someone’s sake.

“The seekers,” Azira responded, looking around quickly. “We’re playing hide and seek.”

“Wha—hide and seek? Why the ever-loving fu—“

“Crowley, here,” Azira interrupted, grabbing onto the redhead’s wrist and pulling him to an alcove. It was big enough to fit them both and have a little extra space besides. Crowley felt the cool earth and rock press into his back as he was pushed against the wall. Azira pinned him there with just the one wrist, and Crowley opened his mouth again.

“Zira—“

Suddenly there was a hand clamped over his mouth, and something sparked in Azira’s eyes. Crowley could feel his knees physically grow weaker.

“I’m sorry, my dear, but now is not a good time to talk.” His words were whispers in the redhead’s ear, brushing over Crowley like the steam from a teakettle. Azira stepped closer, and his body pressed up against Crowley’s and pinned him to the wall. “Touch my shoulder if you’re alright.”

With his free hand, Crowley reached up and gave Azira just the lightest of taps on his shoulder. He was biting on the inside of his lips to hold back the sounds that wanted to come out despite his better judgement, and his fingernails bit into his skin.

“Would you like me to explain?” The whispers caressing his ear weren’t doing him any favors, but he nodded as much as he could anyway. He pressed his hips as far against the wall as he could, and hoped Azira wouldn’t notice any of his struggles.

“Well, some of the cabins around the grounds are in . . . a bit of a state of disrepair, I’m afraid, and because no one wants to stay there—“ Azira suddenly cut himself off as they heard a soft crunch overhead. Crowley’s eyes slid closed and he tried to breathe as quietly as possible. Little shivers ran down his spine with every breath the blond took. He could almost feel the world melting away around him, only feeling the warm, strong hands on his arm and mouth and the hot breath on his ear. He could feel his head swimming as he smelled Azira’s cologne and the slight smell of old books that he could never quite get rid of. His brain was short-circuiting, malfunctioning in the presence of the man he’d been in love with for over a decade. Azira backed away a bit, and Crowley could have hissed at the loss of full-body contact.

“This is a good spot, Crowley,” Azira said in a low voice. “Oh, I should probably tell you the point of all of this. We’re playing hide and seek for sleeping arrangements. That little roulette at the beginning means that Raphael and his wife get to choose first.”

Crowley opened his eyes, still not completely present. His eyes fluttered, and oh, his brain could not let go of the magnificent sight in front of him. Azira looked like an angel.

“Oh,” Azira breathed out, hands tightening on Crowley for just a moment before he let go altogether and took a step back, a step away. “I suppose there is enough room under here for us to stand like this. Silly me.” He stood next to Crowley instead, and the haze slowly dripped out of the redhead’s mind and left him chilled.

Oh. That’s what Azira had said. Had Crowley been found out from the probably-far-more-than-just-affectionate look he’d faced the blond with? At the prospect, and the idea that it made him uncomfortable enough to back away, Crowley felt sick. As much as he tried to tamp it down, hide it beneath the veneer of indifference he’d so carefully cultivated over the years, he just couldn’t. Still mindfully being quiet, he sank to the dirt, crouching with his own hand over his mouth now. Had he just ruined the oldest, dearest friendship he had, all because of a moment of unmoderated behavior?

“Crowley, what’s wrong? Are you alright?” The voice was right there next to his ear again, low and quiet, and Crowley was pulled out of his own head in just a moment. Azira’s arm was draped over his shoulder, his hand rubbing in little circles. He was crouched down with Crowley, and the redhead breathed in sharply.

Azira was so kind to him.

“I’m a bit—I feel sick,” Crowley admitted. There was no point in lying.

“Oh—I—is there anything I can do? Should I call for help from someone nearby?”

“No, angel—“ the pet name that he didn’t need to use when they weren’t around people rang in his ears— “just—give me a bit. Right as rain in just a bit.”

“Are you quite sure?” Crowley could feel Azira’s other hand flapping a bit but he refused to look at him in that moment lest he see the rejection in his face and make the fear rising in him worse.

“I’m fine,” Crowley snapped, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Is it your anxiety?” Azira asked.

“Ngk, yeah,” Crowley replied, running one hand through his own hair and placing the other over his gut.

“Do you want to try to sleep?” Azira questioned, still rubbing little circles into the redhead’s back. Crowley leaned over, pressed his forehead on the blond’s shoulder despite his mind’s protest, and just breathed for several moments. Azira remembered. Of course he did.

“No, I—I’ll be fine.”

He felt large, gentle fingers thread through his hair and hold him to that plush shoulder. His breath stuttered.

“Is this alright? Not making it any worse?”

Crowley nodded, feeling somehow unable to speak. He should have known better. Even if Azira knew, and even though he didn’t feel the same way, Azira wouldn’t treat him any differently. He wouldn’t treat him any differently.

He repeated the phrase in his mind, over and over and over. He didn’t know how long it took, but the nausea and the panic-laced fear subsided bit by bit. The tensions and tricks in his muscles relaxed, except for the ones in his legs holding him up. His breaths came just a little easier. He pulled away, just a bit, but he was unwilling to give up all of the touch just yet. Azira’s fingers slipped out of his hair.

“Feeling a bit better?” The softness in the blond’s tone simultaneously soothed and burned, bit into him and licked his wounds, the dual reaction being one that Crowley was far more than used to. A ghost of a smile crossed his lips.

“Yeah.” That was all he could say, really.

“Azira!” a loud voice called—it was Bee. “Anthony!”

Crowley suddenly noted that where the light was coming from had shifted significantly. He looked over at Azira—after all, he didn’t know if this was a trap or not. Azira pulled his phone out of his pocket, and four missed calls from his parents, Gabriel, and two other people.

“Azira, it’s time to do room sign up, you won!”

Azira stood up, brushing at his pants before holding out a hand and pulling Crowley up. The pair of them slowly walked back to the to the slope.

“Anthony, Lucifer will kill me if he hears that you got hurt and I was here!”

“We’re down here, Bee!” Crowley shouted. Bee’s full head of black hair popped over the edge of the ravine. Her eyes narrowed.

“And just what do you think you’re doing down there?”

Azira gave her the brightest smile, just on the edge of smug. “Winning, of course. Now, be a dear and help us out of here, won’t you?”


	8. Chapter 8

After the little game, everyone split up to do different tasks. Some people went to bring the bags into the cabins and rooms they had selected, and others went to help with dinner or watch the children. Azira was in the first group—Crowley was in the last at Azira’s mother’s request. He spent the afternoon playing with the kids—acting like a big monster they had to slay, a prince at a tea party, and everything in between. After a while, he thought he could sense eyes on him. He ignored it for a bit, but it seemed to get more intense over time.

When he turned, causing the girl french braiding his hair to protest that he should keep still, his amber gaze met a sky blue one. Azira stood leaning against the door to the large, central building, arms folded over his chest and the fondest look on his face. It was like someone had gotten him a blanket, a good book, and a mug of hot cocoa with a tin of his favorite biscuits. Crowley made a mental note to be around children more often. Even if the look was because of the children and not because of him, he’d do anything to make Azira look at him like that again.

And then Azira was pulled away, and Crowley once again threw himself fully into watching the kids. There were a lot of them compared to how many actual adults were around, so he couldn’t truly relax for more than a second.

Sooner or later, someone called them for dinner, and Crowley and the other young adults herded the children into a massive dining hall, with hanging fluorescent lights and row upon row of tables. An entire row was taken up by the food, which by now had a massive line leading up to it. Once Crowley had ensured that his quarter of the children had gotten food and found their parents, he finally looked up and noticed that he, in his haste to help all of the children get their food, had forgotten to get anything for himself. He sighed. He supposed he’d just have to get back in line—or not eat. Neither option seemed appealing.

“Crowley,” Azira piped up, and suddenly he was there, standing right next to him holding two plates. Crowley jumped, eyes wide and mouth spluttering.

“Fu—Zira, when the hell did you get here?” he asked, toning down his language only with the knowledge that there was a kid literally sitting right in front of where he was standing.

“I assumed you’d be too busy taking care of the children to get your food,” he said with a grin, “and I was right. That was very nice of you.”

“I’m not _nice_,” Crowley hissed, but there was no real venom behind it. Azira simply jerked his head over toward a couple of empty spots on the end of one of the tables.

“Of course not. Let’s go sit over there.”

When he passed one of the plates to Crowley, the redhead noticed that there was a striking lack of all of the foods that he hated, and extra portions of the ones he loved. A warm, snuggly feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. Azira always paid attention to details, even with his friends.

They ended up sitting next to Azira’s Aunt Uriel and Uncle Sandy, both Azira’s mother’s siblings. Once the pair of siblings had heard that Crowley was Azira’s date, they’d constantly bombarded him with questions. What did he do for work and in his spare time and how much did he have saved and why did he think the piercings and tattoos were a good idea and what kind of a “real” job did he want and when did he think he’d get an apartment of his own and how long had it been since he’d been in school and did he ever think he’d go back?

After about thirty-five oddly specific and too invasive questions, Crowley had finally finished his food and stretched out his legs as he leaned back. His foot tapped against something that he assumed was a leg of the table, so he just rested his foot against it after crossing one leg over the other. He continued answering questions, his patience slowly being worn down by each and every one, and watched as Azira gave him sympathetic glances. They both knew that Azira speaking up wouldn’t do anything. By the end of it all, he wanted to explode, but he wouldn’t. As long as Azira could get him in a bed as quickly as possible.

“I rather think it’s time for us to skedaddle,” Azira said, shifting in his chair before standing up.

The leg that Crowley had thought was the table’s was suddenly gone. A brief flash of embarrassment crossed his face but he shoved it down before anyone could possibly notice. He scrambled after Azira without even muttering the customary pleasantries, grabbing both of their plates without a second thought. He got rid of them before they left the room.

“That went down like a lead balloon,” Crowley muttered irritably. He pressed a hand to his forehead, just over his glasses. One of the questions had been why he wore the glasses, and then the judgmental air that radiated afterwards was the thing that had almost set him off. Azira too, Crowley had been able to see it in his eyes. That slightly cooler tone that his words had taken—that time, he’d jumped in to defend Crowley, and it had helped quell the urge to throw his plate at Sandy’s face.

“Like a what? Oh, here’s ours, dear.” Azira fumbled over his words a bit as he stopped in front of a cabin nearby to the main building.

“Never mind,” Crowley mumbled as he took a look around. He could see another building that was very clearly marked as a toilet fairly close by, and then several other cabins were in rows. He would bet money that this place hosted at least one summer camp and several other kinds of retreats.

The cabin that Azira was busy unlocking was made out of rough logs, but somehow it still had a sort of polished feel to it. The door was strangely uniform compared to the rest of it, and as Azira pushed the door in, Crowley’s eyes followed up a bit of trailing ivy that he couldn’t quite figure out whether it was real.

Crowley walked into the large room beyond. There was a pair of chairs over in the corner with a small, rustic-looking table in between them with a couple of books on it—the redhead assumed those were Azira’s. There was a simple dresser and a little closet on the other side of the room, but everything was pointing to—

Oh.

There was only one bed.


	9. Chapter 9

Crowley froze just inside the doorway; his hand slipped off the door when he saw the bed. The _single_ bed.

It looked comfy—no, no that wasn’t the issue here. The brown bedspread looked soft and warm—no, that wasn’t the problem either. There were plenty of pillows, perfectly plump and positioned appropriately—but that wasn’t the problem either. It was the fact that there was only one, single bed. Just the one. There wasn’t a second bed ready to pop out from the wall or something—of that he was sure.

Azira had picked the room—written their names next to the cabin number, and if Crowley knew one thing, it was that the bookworm wasn’t stupid. He’d been doing reunions here for years—he had to know. This was further supported when Azira calmly walked over to the bed and unzipped his tracksuit jacket.

“Dearest, aren’t you going to come in and look around?”

“Ngk,” Crowley responded, but he managed to take a step forward and shut the door behind him. His heart was pounding almost harder even than it had earlier when Azira had had him pinned to the wall.

“What’s wrong? Is the room not to your liking?” Azira asked, stepping forward toward Crowley a bit. His eyebrows were drawn together. “I’m sorry there’s only one bed. I thought it would have seemed strange to pick a room with two beds.”

Oh, Crowley thought with only the slightest pang in his heart. That was all it was.

“No,” he insisted, “it’s fine. I can sleep on the floor, if you’d like.”

Azira looked as poshly affronted as he could, given that he was wearing a white t-shirt and beige track pants and that his hair looked like it had been hit by a tornado. “Of course not! We’re both adults; we can certainly sleep in the same bed.”

Crowley blinked once, twice, then pushed his sunglasses a little further up his nose and shoved his hands in his pockets. He put all his weight on one leg and cocked his hip. It helped him to feel slightly more in control.

“If you say so,” he responded. And that was that, he supposed. He was going to sleep in the same bed as the love of his life, who didn’t mind it at all. He wasn’t sure if that last bit was a relief or a disappointment. He took one step into the room, and then another.

“What are we doing now?” Crowley asked, desperately hoping that the answer was not “socialize more.” He’d had enough of Azira’s family for one day, and with Bee, the less he spent around her the better.

“Oh, I thought we could spend some time here before we go to bed,” Azira responded, stripping off the rest of his clothes. Crowley took a sudden interest in the rafters above his head. “Is that disagreeable, Crowley?”

Crowley swallowed. “Not at all.”

When a suitable amount of time had passed and the rustling of clothes had stopped, he looked down again at an Azira who was folding his clothes and placing them on the nightstand on the left side of the bed. He rolled his eyes but had an affectionate smile plastered on his lips.

“Of course your pajamas are tartan,” he said. “Of course they are.”

“Tartan is stylish,” Azira defended himself.

“Right,” Crowley responded, in a tone that suggested exactly the opposite. Azira frowned.

“Aren’t you going to get dressed for bed?” Azira questioned, looking at the redhead curiously. Crowley shrugged.

“Might do,” he responded simply, reaching into his backpack and rummaging around. The corners of his mouth turned down, and then he outright frowned as he continued to rummage. After another few moments, he stopped.

“I think,” Crowley said, “I can just sleep like this.”

Azira frowned, his eyebrows drawing down. “Crowley, don’t be ridiculous. Those clothes are dirty—literally, there’s still dirt all over them.”

“I don’t have pajamas,” Crowley murmured in horror. He only occasionally wore pajamas, so it must have slipped his mind when he was frantically packing that morning. There was only one thing for it, he supposed—to keep Azira comfortable, he would just have to sleep in his clothes in one of the chairs. He could do it.

“Oh,” Azira murmured, looking slightly relieved. “That’s fine then, you can just sleep in your undergarments.”

Crowley choked. Then he coughed vigorously. He fell backwards into the wall, leaning against it for support.

“I don’t understand why you’re having a problem with it,” Azira asserted as Crowley’s face grew redder than a tomato. “I used to see you practically naked all the time.”

“When we were children!” Crowley interjected. He coughed a couple more times before he was done.

“Well, I don’t see much difference between then and now. We’re a bit bigger, perhaps.” Crowley sighed.

So much had changed since their childhood, Crowley thought to himself. Though the redhead had loved the blond practically since he’d met him, that was when they were children. That was before he had any real awareness of his body—or of Azira’s. That was before the self-consciousness hit, before the anxiety. Before he’d realized the depth of what he felt for Azira.

Back then, they were children, and like children, they rarely felt shame or embarrassment. That was totally different from now.

Things were different now. But, instead of arguing, Crowley protested weakly, “Can’t I just sleep in the chair? Don’t see why I couldn’t, honestly.”

“You’ll throw out your back,” Azira returned, staring at Crowley like the most level-headed, reasonable person on the planet. Ugh.

“Might not,” he threw back. His ears burned. Azira was right.

“I’m not taking you to a chiropractor because you want to be stubborn, Anthony.”

A strong shiver ran down the redhead’s spine.

“So stop playing coy, strip, and get in the bed.”

“A little overeager there, aren’t we, Zira?” Crowley prodded, relishing in the way Azira’s ears went pink. It was about time someone other than him was embarrassed.

“Just—cooperate. I’d like to start my reading before it’s too late to get much done.” Azira said, wringing his hands a bit. Crowley suddenly felt a tiny twinge of guild—now Azira was upset. But—

“I’m not stopping you,” he pointed out. “You can do whatever you like.”

“What I’d like,” Azira insisted, “is for you to stop standing next to the door like you’re ready to bold at any moment.” His voice grew softer. “It’s all right, Crowley. I don’t bite or anything.”

Crowley’s brain waffled back and forth for several seconds, and he was sure that Azira could see all his thoughts right on his face. Then he finally made up his mind. “Fine.”

He pulled his shirt off over his head immediately, then looked back over at his fluffy-haired angel.

“Don’t watch,” he whined, crossing his arms and holding his shirt in front of his ribs that stuck out too much, no matter how much he ate, and the abs that only showed from a sheer lack of body fat. His black tattoo on his shoulder, the one that was a broken circle. Azira cleared his throat, then picked up a book before sitting on the edge of the bed. Crowley threw his shirt down onto the bag, and then pulled off his shoes (he wasn’t sure that he’d ever get that scuff to go away) and his pants. Standing there in his baggy boxers and socks, he felt more vulnerable than he ever had in front of Azira. He held his pants in front of himself, grimacing for several seconds.

“All done?” Azira asked, glancing back over to Crowley. The redhead tried to shrink back into the wall, but found that he couldn’t.

“I can’t do this,” he huffed out. “I can sleep in the chair or in my clean clothes or—“

“There’s no reason for that,” Azira hummed. “If you’d like, you can wear my shirt. That would, erm, even the playing field a bit, wouldn’t it?”

Crowley squirmed for a few more seconds, trying to evaluate what Azira was thinking in that moment. Once he realized that he couldn’t, he simply answered the way he thought instead of answering how he thought Azira wanted him to.

“Please.”

Crowley swallowed thickly as Azira calmly set his book to the side and began undoing the buttons of his tartan nightshirt. His heart was caught right between the urge to look away and the urge to watch. He supposed it didn’t really matter, really, if it was going to be off the whole night anyway.

Eventually, the urge to look away won out, and Crowley tried to quell his furious blush that he just knew was running down over his shoulders in addition to his face. After just a few more moments, the shirt popped him right in the face, and he scrambled to catch it before it fluttered to the floor. He slipped the warm, comfortable fabric over his arms and noticed that his fingers were shaking as he buttoned it down. The hem brushed about halfway down his boxers, and he suddenly felt like he was just wearing a shirt and shorts. He was infinitely more comfortable now.

“Thanks, Zira,” he said, looking over at the blond. The soft curls on his chest caught the light from the bedside lamp, and he paused several beats before responding. Crowley thought he could see Azira swallow.

“No problem.” And then his smile was back, that room-blinding smile. “Comfortable?”

“Much better,” he replied.

“Good,” Azira murmured, scooting off the bed and grabbing his book. He took a couple steps and pulled the blanket back before pausing. “Which side would you like?”

“Whichever is fine,” Crowley returned, then took another couple of steps forward and clambered onto the bed while Azira sat down. He pulled the blanked up before wiggling underneath it and curling up on his side facing Azira, and Azira propped his pillow up behind his back. The blond leaned back into it, then placed the book over his belly. It looked so soft, so huggable—and now Crowley knew that it was huggable. Azira was huggable, and Crowley had no greater urge than to reach out and touch. He wanted to wrap himself around Azira almost as a snake would. But he couldn’t, so he wouldn’t.

“When I wrote the following pages, or rather the bulk of them, I—“

Crowley’s nose wrinkled, just a bit. “Are you reading?”

“Yes,” Azira said softly, looking over his reading glasses at Crowley. “I rather think it’d be good for you.”

Crowley humphed. “Well, don’t expect me to stay awake through the musings of a man who had his _mother_ do his laundry.”

“Oh, so you _do _know some literature,” Azira purred, sounding exceedingly pleased.

“Don’t be too proud; I only learned that to tell off the teacher for making us read it,” Crowley mumbled, curling his arms around the pillow he rested his head against.

“Well then,” he said, looking down at Crowley with a small smile of delight. “I’m sure you haven’t actually read it, so you shouldn’t mind too much if I bore you to sleep with _Walden._”

Crowley grumbled for a few moments, then mumbled that it was fine. The light from the lamp on Azira’s side scattered through his curls in such a way that it looked like a halo. Crowley would probably accept just about anything at that moment.

The redhead only managed to stay awake for about an hour before his sleep deprivation from the previous night caught up with him and he drifted off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay! I had a lot of schoolwork to finish up at the end of the semester and then finals, but thanks for being patient! (Also I hope this is coherent; my brain's a little fried right now)


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